William Monk 19 - Blind Justice

interrupting. “If I had something with which I could save the lives of an untold number of people, I think I would keep on meaning to get rid of it but always stop short of doing it, just in case the next patient was one I could have saved. I wouldn’t be prepared to watch them die, knowing it might’ve been avoided. It’s one of those tasks, the kind you’re always going to do tomorrow, until tomorrow comes.”
    Monk looked at her with surprise. He had expected the opposite from her, the gentle, the conservative perspective. But she had taken the unexpected, braver stand, perhaps the more foolish, definitely the more honest.
    Henry was looking at her too, and there was a startling affection in his eyes. Monk realized how much Henry would have preferred that Rathbone marry Hester rather than Margaret. Poor Margaret. Had she ever known that, even if perhaps not putting it so bluntly to herself?
    Monk recalled the discussion back to the practical. “One of us has to look at those pictures and see who is in them that might be in the judiciary or in any other position of power regarding this case. Otherwise we are simply moving around blindly and possibly playing right into their hands.”
    “Agreed,” Henry said grimly. “I shall ask Oliver where these damned things are, and then, with your assistance, identify as many people as possible. We must not only find out if Brancaster himself is there—which I profoundly doubt—but also if there is anyone else who might have an influence on him, or on the nature of Oliver’s trial.” He was looking intently at Monk. “But how do we ascertain that?”
    “I’ll find out,” Monk said rashly. “Perhaps we should also consider who might have influence on Warne, or Gavinton, or anybody else concerned. What a bloody mess.” He looked at Hester with a twisted smile. “Still so sure you’d keep them?”
    She shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be wise, or right, or that I wouldn’t regret it. I just said I think I probably would’ve.”
    Henry shot her a look of gratitude, then rose to his feet. “I’ll fetchyou Rufus Brancaster’s address. As soon as I have visited Oliver to ask where to find these photographs and if you identify the people in them, perhaps we can begin to understand who is with us, and who against.”
    Monk drew in his breath to say something then changed his mind. It was Hester who, with brutal honesty, gave words to his thought.
    “Even once we look at the photographs, there is the problem, as we said, of photographs that were not in Ballinger’s possession. There may be people who were members of the club that we have no way of identifying as such.”
    “I know,” he said quietly, “but there is no value in considering problems we cannot address. You are right, though; we should not allow ourselves a false sense of safety. It is rather sad to think that so many men’s lives are so bereft of purpose and their values so diseased as to look for excitement in such places. I’m afraid when it comes to the use of children I have little understanding or mercy for them.”
    Had he spoken more angrily Monk would have been less moved by his words. He had no memory of his own father and wondered with a rush of nostalgia, even grief, if he had been a man anything like Henry Rathbone. If he had, and Monk could remember it, would he himself be a better man?
    Hester was standing also, regarding Henry with the same emotion in her eyes as Monk felt. She was a gift Monk had been given and Oliver Rathbone had not. One makes oneself a better man, in part by the example of those you love, and in part by the act of loving them. He was well aware of how lucky he was.
    “We will have no mercy for them at all if they enter into this case,” he said. “We have adopted one of those boys, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he has adopted us. One day, when this is over, I would like to bring him to meet you, if you would agree?”
    Henry’s face lit with a smile that made him momentarily almost beautiful.
    “I should be delighted. Please don’t forget to do that.”
    Monk had not even looked at Hester to see if she approved. He did now, and saw her eyes bright with tears.
    ———
    T HE FOLLOWING EVENING THEY visited Henry Rathbone again. He had the photographs, and they spent a grim hour going through them. It was a sick and wretched exercise, but they were able to identify all the men in them, mostly from the coded notes on the back